By Olga Montenegro
Oye, Otto.
They say bodies were found – 172 of them.
‘The lucky ones’
to be buried after thirty years or so of restless cries –
on the other side
yelling their names to those they’d find.
Otto, children were found
mams who tried to step before the land
and separate the military
died with open arms
a prayer to the sky
To call them bodies is a
lie
there are jaws and femurs
but not flesh
and no eyes.
Bodies long gone
giving a home to the worms and the earth they did not want
unable to feel their mothers’ touch
or hear their name called – honeyed in love -
or see themselves go to sleep to wake up again.
Oye, Otto.
Siguen unos allí, sin poder hablar.
They can’t talk.
Skulls and bones.
Ya fueron muchos años.
And the people who carried their names,
Have died far away from them too. ‘Lejos’, dicen.
Otto, generations were savagely separated on these lands
And cursed the future, separating families in eternity too: some calling out names dripping in sour horror and the other ones frozen unable to respond.
Except today. 172 puzzle pieces found, but no one could bury them.
No one knew them anymore to pray their names into the t h i n a i r .
Olga Montenegro (she/ella) is a native of Boston, MA who grew up in Mexico City. The daughter of two Guatemalan parents, Olga is currently a graduate student at Bridgewater State University and working on her thesis which incorporates both English and Spanish to amplify the impact of language in memoir. Her work can be found in No Contact Magazine, Red Ogre Review, bravevoicesmag, MoonColaZine, and Jupiter Review. You can find her on Twitter as @ActuallyOlga.